


pick your poison

by PaintedVanilla



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crossdressing Kink, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), amazon series gardener aziraphale DO NOT interact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: “Mr. Francis, I do believe you’re going to ruin my hair.”





	pick your poison

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dvldegg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvldegg/gifts).



> if gardener aziraphale from the amazon miniseries so much as looks at this fic i will stomp him to death with my hooves
> 
> im not the most acclaimed smut writer out there so you know. take this with a grain of salt. and thank you for reading <3

“I still maintain that we should be keeping an eye on him,” Aziraphale says stiffly from the passenger seat.

Behind his sunglasses, Crowley rolls his eyes. “Angel, it’s one week. He’s going to decide to destroy the world in one week? He’s seven, we’ve got ages.”

“I just don’t like not knowing what’s going on,” Aziraphale insists. “What if something happens? What if they decide to stay for longer? What if—?”

“Angel,” Crowley says, in a low voice that’s meant to be seductive. “You know I worry just as much as you do, but we’ve got a whole week to ourselves. And you _know_ there’s nothing I would rather be doing than attempting to avert the apocalypse with you, but I do rather feel as though I’d like to spend most of the week we have between the sheets. Thoughts?”

Aziraphale gives him a stern look. “You’re getting side tracked.”

Crowley regards the angel sitting next to him, thankful that he can’t see him making eyes behind his glasses. “We’ve got plenty of time, angel, I promise you. Besides, the boy is well balanced out. He’s growing up perfectly normal.” _A bit too normal,_ Crowley finds himself thinking sometimes, but that should never be a problem, should it?

Aziraphale sighs. “I think we should—”

 _“I_ think we should fuck,” Crowley says bluntly. “I understand why humans have such a difficult time maintaining a lively sex life with jobs and children in the mix. It’s been nothing but hurried handjobs since we started all this. I feel like a human teenager.”

“Well, we’ll be sure never to have kids, then,” Aziraphale says dryly. “Forgive me, but I find it incredibly difficult to focus on sex when Armageddon is impending.”

“He’s too young, Aziraphale,” Crowley insists. “Stop thinking about the child. Think about _me.”_

Aziraphale looks at him again, and there’s a beat, and then Crowley slips into a bit of a different headspace and feels around for desire. It’s not difficult to find it; it surrounds the angel in abundance. He grabs a thought and latches onto it, listening. _Difficult_ not _to think about you in those stockings and garters._

Crowley doesn’t need to breathe, but he sucks in a breath anyways. One might almost call it a gasp. “Is that so?”

“Is what so?” Aziraphale asks smooths.

“You _know_ what,” Crowley says, grinning wickedly. “Is that really how you feel? Seeing me all dressed up in my skirts and stockings?”

Aziraphale looks out at the road. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you _do,”_ Crowley practically purrs. “You are _dirty_ , angel. I might even call you sinful.”

“Don’t,” Aziraphale warns.

Crowley shivers a little bit. “Oh, you do know how to get me in the mood.”

“It’s not terribly difficult,” Aziraphale mutters.

“Oh, don’t play innocent,” Crowley says. “I can sense desire, you know that, and it’s coming off you in _droves._ I can see every little fantasy playing out in your head right now, and it’s really quite distracting, I must say. You’re going to get us into a wreck, angel.”

“So pull over,” Aziraphale says, and his voice is low and Crowley really shivers this time.

“No,” he breathes. “No, I want you in my bed. Want to see you laid out on my sheets, all flushed while I fuck you.”

Aziraphale snorts, and Crowley frowns, dragged out of the mood as he turns to look at him. _“What?”_

“Surely you don’t mean you’d like to be in charge?” Aziraphale asks, amused.

Crowley blushes deeply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just that, well, after all this time, I didn’t think you very capable,” Aziraphale explains. “Not to be rude, of course. You’re capable of a great many things, it’s just that when we make love you’re never terribly coherent.”

Crowley clutches the wheel tightly. “I am coherent.”

“You most certainly are not,” Aziraphale says affectionately. “You whine and scream and sob and hiss and cry out for God. Or for me. Although I daresay you sometimes get the two mixed up.”

Crowley’s cock twitches at such an implication, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed by just how much he wants his angel. He swallows, grinning, trying to keep himself composed. “I just think it wouldn’t be fair if we didn’t play along with the rest of the staff.”

Aziraphale stiffens. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you just _know_ they know,” Crowley teases. “They’ve caught us discussing in closets often enough.”

“Well, we weren’t _snogging,”_ Aziraphale insists, embarrassed.

“Oh, but they _assume,”_ Crowley continues. “I drive you home, angel! And besides, it’s very… I mean, picture me—well, not _me,_ but, you know, Nanny Ashtoreth, and I’m, you know, a very stern woman. Disciplined and principled and respectable, and certainly the one… in charge of her relationships. Which she has such little time for, anyhow, seeing as she spends _all_ her time at work, with her boy. But when she does have moments to herself, she gets to steal away with this… rather handsome gardener, who’s very gentle and soft spoken and stays very much out of the way. And I daresay we make quite the pair, angel.”

Aziraphale is watching him, and Crowley can feel his desire so thick in the air he could cut it with a knife. “Do you think about this concept often?”

“I just think it’s romantic, is all, angel. And I do believe the rest of the staff eats it up.”

“And you do believe, what? They think Ms. Ashtoreth pegs me?”

Crowley bites his lip. “That’s not such a terrible concept,” he breathes. “And who are we, really, not to deliver? We should give the people what they want.”

“Oh, of course,” Aziraphale says, rolling his eyes. “Forgive me, sometimes I forget about our live audience that watches us as we make love.”

“Oh, you know what I _mean,_ angel,” Crowley says. “I just think it would be fun.”

“What, role playing?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley nods eagerly. He considers it, for a long moment, and his aura of desire—desire for _Crowley,_ the demon thinks with a rush—never dissipates.

“Alright,” he says finally, and Crowley’s heart leaps in his chest.

“Really?” he asks, grinning excitedly, and Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

“Yes, my dear,” he says. “You know I do love to indulge you. But I want you to know I have my own ideas.”

Crowley squirms, positively giddy, absolutely certain that he has the upperhand, not knowing how wrong he is.

* * *

Crowley is not expecting to be spun around and slammed against his front door as soon as they get inside, nor is he expecting to be kissed so hard he goes dizzy. This is what he finds to be happening to himself, though, and despite all his talk in the car, he accepts the arrangement rather easily.

“Aziraphale—” he tries to say, when the angel breaks the kiss, but Crowley quickly finds a hand pressed to his mouth, Aziraphale pushing his head to the side to press kisses to his neck. Crowley whimpers into his hand.

Aziraphale nips at Crowley’s earlobe, then whispers, “You are a naughty thing, aren’t you, Ms. Ashtoreth?”

Crowley moans, his eyes rolling back in his head as he comes to terms with exactly what they’re doing. Aziraphale continues. “You’re quite the tease, I must say. Terribly tempting, you are. Everyday I think to myself how I would much rather be eating you out than working in that garden.”

Crowley whimpers, arousal pooling in his stomach. Aziraphale spends several moments leaving open mouthed kisses on his neck, quietly relishing in every desperate sound Crowley makes. He moves his hand from Crowley’s mouth so he can hear them, pinning him to the door with firm hands on his hips.

“You know what I think about everyday while I’m working?” Aziraphale asks.

“What?” Crowley breathes, combing his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair and holding on for dear life.

“Stealing you away,” Aziraphale says, kissing Crowley’s jaw. “I’d like to sweep you off to secluded little corners of the manor. Or out into the garden where everyone can see you. I’d like to lift your skirts and eat you out, then fuck your pretty little cunt until you scream.”

Crowley moans, his head falling back and hitting the door. “Aziraphale—”

“Would you like that, Ms. Ashtoreth?” Aziraphale asks, whispering in his ear. “I’d like to make you lose your composure. I’d like to punish you for being so tempting. Would you like that?”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I—I’m not quite working with the proper… equipment… I—”

Aziraphale kisses him soundly. “It’s part of the game, my dear,” he says gently.

“Oh,” Crowley says, blushing. “Okay. Okay, I—”

Aziraphale kisses him again, then reaches up and takes off his sunglasses. He miracles them out of his hand, somewhere where he won’t have to deal with them until tomorrow, and looks lovingly into his golden eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

Crowley blushes harder. “Oh,” he breathes, leaning in close. “Er—thank you…”

Aziraphale kisses him again, slower this time, and Crowley melts into it. Finally, Aziraphale hums and pulls away, placing a hand on the back of his lover’s neck and holding him tightly. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

“Mm,” Crowley says, smiling as he sinks down to his knees. “Is that a promise?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathes, anchoring a hand in the modest bun Crowley’s hair is tied back into as he unbuttons his slacks.

Crowley smiles wickedly, teasing Aziraphale’s cock out of his trousers. “Mr. Francis, I do believe you’re going to ruin my hair.”

Aziraphale’s response is cut off by the sound he makes when Crowley takes him in his mouth, deciding now is the time to show off the sort of delicious things he can do with his tongue. Aziraphale does ruin his hair, miracling away every single intricately placed bobby pin so he can anchor a hand in Crowley’s dark hair.

Crowley’s mouth is hot and wet, and Aziraphale struggles not to hold his head still and fuck his face. He knows Crowley would like that, he’s been very partial to such treatment in the past, but they’re playing a game, and that’s no way to treat a lady.

“Ms. Ashtoreth,” Aziraphale groans, and Crowley moans around him, curling his tongue in a way not quite human. _“Oh,_ miss— _please,_ I—I’m going to—”

Crowley pulls off of him, licking the head of his cock and looking up at him seductively. “Please do,” he says, then takes him all the way into his mouth.

Aziraphale groans, rocking his hips forward and coming down Crowley’s throat. He keens, swallowing him down, which makes Aziraphale’s skin prickle with arousal. He pulls Crowley up by his hair, cutting his moan off with a crushing kiss, pushing him back against the door and tasting himself on his tongue.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Aziraphale says, breaking the kiss. “We’re getting up in our age, Ms. Ashtoreth, surely you can’t expect me to keep you up all night if you’re going to make me come right away.”

“I like pleasing you,” Crowley says hoarsely, and Aziraphale hums and presses a kiss to his jaw.

“You’re a naughty girl,” he says, and Crowley whines, rocking his hips forward desperately. “Ah, no, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, God,” Crowley sighs, and Aziraphale smiles into the kiss he presses just below his ear.

“Taking the Lord’s name in vain,” he chastises. “Truly, Ms. Ashtoreth, you _are_ terrible.”

“You like it,” Crowley mutters.

“I do,” Aziraphale says. “I daresay you have no right to be as _sexy_ as you are in all your layers and long skirts. You’re positively ravishing.”

Crowley smiles wickedly. “I hear you like my stockings.”

“Oh, I do,” Aziraphale says, kissing down his neck as far as he can, which isn’t much on account of Crowley’s high collar. “I dream of hiking up your skirts and finger fucking you, eating you out until you scream.”

“Mr. Francis, you have quite the mouth on you,” Crowley purrs. _“Please,_ tell me more. Tell me all of the things you want to do to me.”

Aziraphale runs his hands up Crowley’s chest, settling on the high collar of his shirt. “Why tell you when I can show you?” he asks, his voice low, and then in a display of angelic strength, he rips Crowley’s blouse open.

Crowley moans loudly, arching into Aziraphale as he spreads his hands over his now bare chest. He whines and writhes and grabs at Aziraphale’s shoulders, pulling him closer, closer, _closer,_ into a crushing kiss that leaves both of them breathless.

Crowley is the one who eventually breaks it, needlessly breathless. “Oh, please,” he says weakly, leaning against him. “Take me to bed.”

Aziraphale hums. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Want you to punish me,” Crowley says faintly, and Aziraphale breathes deep and grabs him by the waist, spinning him around and pushing him down. Suddenly, they’re on the bed, or at least the edge of the bed, and Crowley is bent over Aziraphale’s knees, and Aziraphale is hiking his skirts up and running a hand along his thigh, his stockings, his garters, up to his arse and the feminine underwear he has on, because if Crowley is one thing, it’s dedicated to his aesthetics.

 _“Oh,_ Mr. Francis,” Crowley moans, grinding his erection against Aziraphale’s thigh. _“Please—”_

“Funny, Ms. Ashtoreth,” Aziraphale says, squeezing his thigh. “I can’t quite seem to recall what I’m punishing you for.”

 _“Anything,”_ Crowley whines. “Just—just want you to—to— _please, Mr. Francis—”_

“Say it,” Aziraphale says sternly.

 _“Spank me,”_ Crowley moans, rutting against Aziraphale’s thigh. He’s not expecting the angel to comply so quickly, bringing his hand down against his arse _hard—_ not has hard as he _could,_ but still quite harsh for the first one. Nevertheless, he gasps, his cock twitching as he twists in Aziraphale’s grasp.

“How many, do you think?” Aziraphale murmurs. “Five? Ten? Pick your poison, my dear.”

“Don’t care,” Crowley whines, arching his back and presenting himself. “Spank me and then _fuck me.”_

Aziraphale hums thoughtfully. “How’s about one—”

He brings his hand down, harshly and without much of a warning, and Crowley yelps.

“—for your attitude in the car. Two—”

He brings his hand down again, but this time Crowley is expecting it and moans.

“—for making me come so quickly. And three—”

The third is harder than the others, jolting Crowley forward, and it takes every ounce of his self control not to come bent over Aziraphale’s knee.

“—for that dirty little mouth of yours.”

 _“Yesss,”_ Crowley hisses, twisting in his arms. _“Fuck me.”_

Aziraphale drags him onto the bed, pinning him beneath him and vanishing every article of clothing that lies between them, except for Crowley’s stockings, simply because Aziraphale wants them to stay. He slides into Crowley, far too impatient to take the time to prepare him properly and instead opting in favor for a small miracle. Crowley hisses, his eyes rolling back in his head as he thrusts his hips up to meet him.

 _“Yesss.”_ Crowley writhes underneath him, twisting in pleasure.

 _“Oh, fuck,”_ Aziraphale whispers, and Crowley just about screams. “Oh, _yes,_ you love it when I fuck your tight little cunt, don’t you?”

 _“Yesss!”_ Crowley brings his legs up and hooks them around Aziraphale’s hips, rocking against him in time with his thrusts.

Aziraphale reaches between them and taking Crowley’s cock in his hand, stroking him roughly, and Crowley sobs. “No—oh, God, I’m not—I’m gonna come—”

“Let me hear you,” Aziraphale groans, grinding against him. “Come for me, I know you want to. You’re so easy. _Come for me.”_

Crowley makes a sound that very well might be a wail, but he likely wouldn’t want such a thing recorded, so we’ll call it a noise of pleasure. A rather loud noise of pleasure. He comes, shuddering, pressing himself up against Aziraphale and dragging him into a fervent kiss. Aziraphale moans into his mouth, following right after him, and for a moment all they can do is rock against each other in blinding bliss.

“Oh, goodness,” Aziraphale whispers, and Crowley smiles against his lips.

“Such language,” he teases, breathless. “It’s almost as if you weren’t just whispering filth in my ear.”

Aziraphale hums, rolling his hips lazily, and Crowley shudders, overstimulated. “I—I’m done, Aziraphale. Done playing, done—just, enough for tonight.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale says gently, rolling off him and cleaning up their mess with a thought. He pulls Crowley up into his arms and kisses him on the cheek; the demon smiles. “I suppose it is true what they say.”

“What’s that?” Crowley asks.

“Having children does put a damper on one’s sex life.”

Crowley won’t admit to giggling, but that’s what he does. He rolls over in Aziraphale’s arms and tucks his face into the crook of his neck, grinning.

Aziraphale runs his fingers through his hair. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I, my dear?”

“No,” Crowley says quietly. “I liked it. We might do it again, I think.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

Aziraphale grins, and pulls him up into a kiss. Crowley sighs against him, melting into it. “I love you,” he murmurs into him, and Aziraphale smiles, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“I love you, too,” he returns.

Crowley grins and gives him another chaste kiss, before asking, “Do you really think those things about me?”

“What things?” Aziraphale asks innocently.

“Those fantasies,” Crowley says coyly.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Aziraphale says. “Although it is true on slow days I do tend to let my mind wander. I’m not exactly as talented with plants as you.”

Crowley hums. “Perhaps you should’ve been the nanny and I the gardener.”

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale says quickly. “No, I quite enjoy seeing you in your stockings and skirts. Your blouses. Your lip rouge, your hair all pinned up. Your heels.”

Crowley is grinning wickedly. “They’re snakeskin.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Aziraphale says, a bit breathless. “I do believe I have a bit of ‘a thing’ for seeing you all dressed up.”

“I do believe that’s the best news I’ve heard in seven years,” Crowley purrs.

“I do have to keep my distance,” Aziraphale mutters. “Hard to keep my hands off of you.”

“You’d think if you found me _that_ sensual, we’d be doing more than offhanded handjobs on the couch,” Crowley shoots back.

Aziraphale snorts. _“Offhanded handjobs.”_

“Human teenagers, I tell you,” Crowley says, twisting in his arms again to find a comfortable sleeping position. “S’what we’ve been reduced to.”

“Well, if it’s any consultation, you do get me quite concupiscent,” Aziraphale whispers.

“Ooh, ten dollar word,” Crowley mutters. “Just say horny.”

“Alright. Horny.”

Crowley jabs Aziraphale’s side, and he squirms, chuckling. Crowley shuts his eyes, willing sleep upon himself. “That will be quite enough out of you, Mr. Francis.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Aziraphale teases, holding Crowley close and following his lead in drifting off.

**Author's Note:**

> needed to write a little sexy gardener/nanny to cleanse my palate of... _that._
> 
> tony, i know you're very drunk right now, so i hope you can appreciate this when you're sober. i know how much you love aziraphale. <3


End file.
